


and you remember

by popsky



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Platonic admiration, Pre-Canon, Titan slaying, Touching, slight language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popsky/pseuds/popsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rivaille remembers - nothing was known about him, except that he lived alone and was called Lance Corporal Irvin Smith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this lovely prompt at snkkinkmeme:  
> It's been said that Levi never followed anybody's orders until he met Irvin. How did they first come upon each other, and what was it about Irvin that made him suddenly change?

_\--  
_

_and you remember_  
  
  
It was autumn.  
  
You remember watching him, with his squad, near the gate that crossed a border between your imagination and fabled things you didn’t consider necessary. Their rare arrival brought you chances, because then people would abandon their shops for you to steal from – though it was kind of pitiful to see many mothers, fathers, siblings, friends, wives, husbands, children, and lovers craning their necks and looking so hopeful. You didn’t even have that luxury, of any person waiting for you, any person relieved to see you survive another day; but neither did he, who walked straight home without anyone looking like his family. Happiness made people forget some bags were missing, and you should be grateful for that, but seeing him like that made you unable to take off your eyes; so you continued watching.  
  
As usual you stood there, on that one spot; there was a huge abandoned cartwheel that allowed you to go higher, even if your thigh hurt from keeping the balance. You also counted with your heartbeat, because your fingers were busy carrying groceries; the bell rings once, twice, and thrice.  
  
There he was: a stoic face passing the heads of small crowds, back straight and eyes to the distant future; not looking at you (of course, you spent months practicing stealth and how _not_ to be seen).  
  
Nothing was known about him, except that he lived alone and was called _Lance Corporal Irvin Smith_. His companions wore the same green cloaks, with two intricate crossed wings embroidered on their broad backs. You didn’t give a single fuck about looks, but the fabric looked warm as hell, and it was going to be winter soon. For one second you wondered how curled up in his large arms would feel like.  
  
You frowned, catching yourself in surprise and annoyance with perfectly equal amount, deciding against stealing a new mantle.  
  
-  
  
It was (almost) spring.  
  
You began to see more things in your life. Like how your eyes sharpened and darkened like no one your age should. How to do things more efficiently, more effectively: you soon learned that thugs with dangerous weapons carried more valuable things, because that meant they stole from the inner districts. Living from one underworld to another, you found yourself in the bathroom more often, washing off blood that was not your own.  
  
Your reputation skyrocketed as if it had _wings_ ; bandits and military police alike feared you, the small murder machine with no sound and unparalleled strength. For once you felt something plaguing the back of your mind, and that was _boredom_ , crawling along your nape like a second skin (one number too big). In reality you never wanted to become larger, taller, and firmer. Not because you were not intimidating enough – but you liked it when your opponents were larger, when they saw the gap in inches and they were underestimating you, and did not realize you had already beaten them until it was too late. It became your favorite pastime now; because everything else was _that_ boring (their reactions intrigued you). Besides, ten minutes ago you had beaten up the hundredth police unit that tried to make you submit to them – not that you were counting.  
  
Turned out, it was not just you whose reputation grew, as you heard another familiar chime of bell. The Recon Corps returned, and coincidentally you saw him again, being _Sergeant Irvin Smith_ now. His face looked even grimmer, skin colorless, blue eyes colder and shadowed (though the sun might be playing tricks on you, as your angle was not right). He looked even taller, at this point, and in irritation you wondered if such thing is possible. Seconds later you realized that actually there were people who welcomed him; still not his relatives, you concluded, not because they were nothing alike, but because they asked so many questions in familiar hopeful expressions.  
  
You leaned to the nearest wall, listening to him speaking politely: about the condition outside the walls, sincere apology to the family left behind, gratitude for people who supported the Legion, and turning down marriage offers. His voice was a deep baritone that made you think of the rumored outside world: large forests with looming old mahogany trees; both useful for calming civilians, and also useless for stopping imaginations.  
  
He still lived alone. Those eyes made you think of what the world he saw looked like.  
  
-  
  
It was halfway to summer, but right now that was not important.  
  
You were running.  
  
There were heavy sounds of metal-soled boots behind you, their shouts urgent and desperate as they had been chasing you all the way to outer walls. You could overpower them, of course, but their sheer number was annoying to deal with, and you hated their squeaking voice anyway, especially combined with the faint smell of alcohol reeking from their mouths and uniforms. So you kept running.

  
There were some garrisons who joined the tag game as you came closer to a wall, coming from all directions, creating a dead-end. Exasperated, you reached for a dagger tucked on your waist, but as you glance to the left you see a gate, slowly closing, but there was still enough open space –  
  
You jumped outside, landing safely on patches of grass. You sprinted again, hearing Garrisons yelling warnings and unimportant buzzing sounds, but they ceased chasing you. Leaning on the outer side of the gate, you stopped to listen. The voices had died down now. Safe, you closed your eyes for a second, exhaling, briefly forming a plan to reenter the gate; and when you opened up again-  
  
Titan.  
  
Right in front your eyes.  
  
You dodged a row of teeth, closely, from sheer reflex; the clacking sound thundered on your ears as the titan bit the air you just breathed. In grim shock you just realized that _so this is what a titan looks like_ , and the consequence of leaving the walls, even just for this brief moment. There went all your impromptu combat plans, and _fuck why it is so large?_ Cursing, you gripped your dagger, feet jumping with the gate as a vertical leverage, slashing quickly on the titan’s throat.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
You leaped and dodged, stabbing and slicing, but to your cold frustration none of your attacks had worked. The wounds you inflicted, normally lethal to men twice your height, were now healing up as quickly as you cleanly amputated both of the titan’s arms. You tried remembering if there was a particular way to kill a titan, but the knowledge had been prohibited to civilians for the past years; it was deemed useless as long as they were safe within the walls. Could they even be killed? Before you came up with anything, those arms grew back, reaching for you.  
  
All of the sudden a sword lunged down, nailing them hard to the ground.  
  
The titan fell on its stomach with a deafening crash. It struggled uselessly as the sword pierced through both of its extended lower arms; one placed on the top of another. The sharp tip dug the earth, all the way to the hilt, effectively securing that position like nail driving wood.  
  
You looked up to see the blade’s owner, strangely not surprised to find Sergeant Irvin Smith.  
  
However, you were surprised to see him standing beside you in a straight stance, smiling faintly at your scowl. “The Recon Corps had just departed,” he explained in a flat tone; one hand twisting the sword in clean ninety degrees, adding more weight to the force. “I guess the gate was still in the process of closing, and then Mike sniffed a human scent slipping outside the wall in that moment. They are exactly five miles from here so no one believed him.”  
  
“Great,” you replied without thinking, eyes still to the drooling titan.  
  
He added another blade to ensure complete immobility. “I’m impressed,” his voice was serious, eyeing other various cuts you had made all over the titan’s body, now closing up steadily. You could feel him counting the wounds, and maybe counting your age for extra measure. “Is this your first time facing a titan? Are you injured? Do you know how to fight a titan, or killing it?”  
  
“Yes, and no, and maybe,” You found irritation coming back. “To fight, I don’t know; and to kill, not so much. This gross excuse of a creature _just does not die.”_  
  
You were startled to find his lips forming a slightly more amused smile. “I see,” he nodded, looking thoughtful. Then, “Do you want to kill it?”  
  
“No, it just – What?”  
  
“Do you want to kill it?” He repeated, eyes expectant, though his tone was kept level. “Because titans do die, actually, but only after a particular killing process. I could do it for you – it is part of our job, no, _whole_ part of our job, but truth be told, I’d like to see you try.” His honesty was _brutal_.  
  
You really did not mean to, but before you could shut up: “How?”  
  
Eyes unblinking, you could only watch as he let go one of the blade. His right hand now held both hilts, and his left was now moving behind your head. You gripped your poised dagger until your fingertips turned white, but he just let a finger touched the sensitive skin just at the bottom of where your hair grew, tracing a slow straight line on your nape.  
  
“Slice here,” he instructed, eyes locking with you the whole time. “Approximately fifty centimeters long, precisely at the center. Go as deep as you can.”  
  
…You jumped. Not away from him, no, but at the titan.  
  
Skeptical, but curious, you watched as your dagger ran quickly and satisfyingly across the titan’s hard skin, creating a large clean gash that did not ooze blood nor stain your stiletto. It was a lot harder than slicing a human skin, but you had cut a few bones before, and this was like doing both, but the combined sensations were strangely satisfying. Then the titan just slowly _evaporated_ , leaving you with a leisurely strange moment of completion, pleasant goose bumps at the top of your spine, and the most spotless kill you have ever done.  
  
“Dead right at the mark,” he murmured, genuinely fascinated, and smiled to you again like you were the most fantastic thing he had ever found. Looking at him right now, it was probably true.  
  
“Rivaille, isn’t it?—” And before you asked where the _hell_ he knew, “—do you want to join us?”  
  
-

 


	2. the words; his

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is exactly why you always trusted him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also for the Irvin+Rivaille first meeting prompt at SnK kinkmeme, because someone requested an omake. :)  
> It's more like a brief follow-up, but can be read as stand-alone.

_the words; his_

  
  
(— you wondered if that was enough of a reason.)

  
-

         
 _Do you want to join us?_  
  
 _What_ , at first the surprise slapped you like ridiculous idea furiously shaking its overly-rational head.  
  
He had repeated the question, even though something about the way his tone was _conversational_ while nailing down a smoking titan’s bone told you that he did not need an answer. You did not give him one, out of spite. You listened to no one, since the very start of your memory; and you were certain even a Sergeant _(Chief)_ Irvin Smith would not change that. He did not expect you to, either; he knew you hated orders and trusted you to weigh the things he said, leaving you wondering if that was an order in itself. His concepts baffled you, they always did, but maybe that was the very reason you followed him.  
  
 _Welcome to the Scouting Legion._  
  
Neither of you were surprised at this decision. You still stiffened, though, when he took off his own cloak to drape it carefully on your shoulders. The weight of two wings pressed on your back, and the smile of new comrades drowned your lungs; but blanketed with inflamed scars, his hands were warm.  
  
 _This is where your heart is, Rivaille, and you are meant to offer it._  
  
In rare times, he _did_ give you orders, only when the matter was too critical, too pressing for him to risk losing you. And that alarmed you. Frightened you, even. Because no human has ever done this for you; because even after he fought too much of his everything for humanity, when humanity betrayed you, somehow it betrayed him, too.  
  
(You perfectly understand if they did not want an underground criminal to join an army. But you would never fathom the conflict rising in his eyes, when the trial asked for his loyalty, for your guaranteed obedience. His face remained impassive throughout the whole trial, and your chest constricted silently with _come on, Irvin, I’m fine, this is just an act;_ but still he refused to punch you, just _because—)_  
  
 _Humans fear what they do not understand. That’s why we will get her alive._  
  
Sometimes, you pretend you did not hear him, and it was half-true. You felt him the loudest when he was not speaking, because his voice drowned all your cognition of words and worlds and little else you were left with. You cursed whatever rewarding method that was in your nervous system, the traitorous part of your mind that easily registered Irvin’s voice and the promises it entailed: always true, always too true. The rest of the Legion agreed wholeheartedly with you on this, albeit a little too differently: there are consequences that can’t be risked, and hearing his words meant safety, meant the best way, the easy way: it was law of survival. You did not care for law, you never did; it was just about adrenaline pounding in your heart and ringing in your ears.  
  
 _One more titan fell._  
  
The flexible side of your blade quavered with the last impact that sent the titan’s head flying, a lingering sensation that crawled up on your spine. It settled comfortably on the top, the cervical part where Irvin’s finger had caressed, some time ago; when he instructed you in a too gentle voice of how to make a perfect kill.  
  
Two titans left; and again the back of your neck shivered in anticipation.

  
-

  
_Trust your own blades, Rivaille, and not me._  
  
(—just _because_ he knew you already did. He offered you his own, too.)  
  
 _I know_ , you replied, scowling; but this is exactly _why_ you always trusted him.

                                                          

-

 

 


End file.
